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Polar Zone/Two
❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅❄❅ I'm dreaming of the life I once loved, so wake me if you're out there. — Owl City, Angels ---- EVERLY I NEVER KNEW the world could be so cold. And I mean that in every sense possible. The air is absolutely frigid; it feels like I'm inhaling icicles every time I breathe. I mean it another sense too. I never knew you could lose so much, could feel so much pain. I never dreamed the sun could set on a day when I wouldn't have my family around me, the warmth of their love washing over me. But the sun has set. Night has fallen, and my family is gone. Mom, Dad, Juniper, Starlight. I'll never see any of them again. Every time I close my eyes, I see the inside of a wolf's jaw. I see vicious teeth, snapping and snarling, tearing my family apart. I see Mom flying through the air and hitting a tree trunk, going instantly limp and crumpling to the ground. I see Dad and Juniper hanging from the mouths of wolves like dead mice. I see Starlight, my beautiful, brave sister, launch herself at the wolf that has Dad. I remember the snapping sound the wolf made as he broke her neck. And me? What did I do? I ran up a tree. A blasted tree. I am the worst kind of coward there is. I did the unthinkable: I left my family to die. I literally threw them to the wolves. A dry sob builds in my throat and tears through me. There are no more tears left in my eyes to cry; all that's left is a wretched, ugly gap where my heart used to be. I stumble uphill clumsily, bumping into roots and shrubs. I've never been up the mountain before, but I have no choice. The valley isn't safe; if I stay there, the wolves will have me by dawn. I know Thorn Mountain is inhabited by groups of strange cats, but all I can do is hope that if they find me, they'll be friendly--or at least not in the mood to attack me. Up ahead, I see something shimmering in the moonlight. It's a river, a relatively small one, but wide enough so that I have no hope of crossing. I sigh and bend my head to the surface. I intend to take a short drink, but instead I just stay in that position, neck bent out over the rippling water, like I'm about to throw myself in. I gaze down at my reflection. I'm a mess, I know that. Dried blood cakes one of my ears. An ugly gash, now a deep shade of eggplant, runs down my foreleg. Bruises pool along my side, in the tender places between my ribs. I cringe and dip my head in the water, letting icy rivulets run down my skull and watching them drip down onto the snow, now stained reddish-pink. Suddenly feeling sick to my stomach, I step back, accidentally putting my foot down on an icy stick. It snaps with a loud cracking sound, and I wince as it pierces the pad of my paw. As if I don't already have enough to worry about. I'm sitting on the bank of the river, licking the new cut on my paw, when something--more instinct than anything else--makes me look up. What I see makes my blood go cold in my veins. An enormous white tom is sitting on the opposite side of the bank. His stance is threatening enough: crouched low, his tail out, quarters tensed, jaw bared in a snarl. But most frightening are his eyes. They're the palest shade of blue I've ever seen, and completely blank of any feeling. The pupils are narrow slits, and the irises are overwhelmingly void. A deeply ingrained fear rises up in me; I feel like I'm locking eyes with something not even feline. Then the tom springs. I could never have made the jump, but I realize almost immediately that he will. He's going to cross the river, and he's going to cannon into me and kill me. I don't even know what comes over me, but whatever it was, it probably saved my life. I lunge to pick up the stick I just cracked in half, and I fling myself up at him. I aim for his head and crack down as hard as I can. His claws retract in surprise, and his blunt, heavy paws scrabble at me. Then I whack him again, and he goes down into the river with a colossal splash. Like an idiot, I scream. I know. Killer tom attacks. I whack killer tom with stick. Killer tom goes down into river. Idiot she-cat (that's me!) screams at what she's just done with her own four paws. And then idiot she-cat hurries forward and holds out the stick she just concussed the killer tom with and yells, "Grab on!" I'm not sure why I do that. It's not like I'm going to be able to pull him up, not with my injured leg and the fact that he obviously weighs more than me. But he listens; he latches his claws into the stick and then grabs on with his jaw. I lean back and pull with all my strength, but it's not enough--and the half-stick is threatening to crack into quarters. There's only one thing I can think to do, and I have to do it quick, before the stick snaps and it's too late. I push all my strength forward, into my shoulders, using my back legs to dig into the riverbank so that I don't fall forward myself. Then I swing my neck to the right, dragging the stick and the tom along with me. I slam the tom into the riverbank, hard. He scrabbles to action with lightning reflexes, digging into the bank and clambering up, soaking wet. There's a gash above his ear from where I clubbed him, and it's bleeding heavily. Water pours off his sleek white pelt. His eyes spell murder. I stumble back, my neck and chest aching, and cower away from him. He speaks, and his voice sends a horrible tremor down my spine; his voice is every bit as vacant and hollow as his gaze. "You just hit me over the head." Well duh, I think, but I don't dare to say it aloud. He looks the slightest bit bemused at my reaction, his eyebrows scrunching together as if waiting for me to say something. I blurt, "I pulled you out of the river." "You slammed me into the riverbank and I pulled myself out," he corrects. "You pushed me into it in the first place." "Because you leaped at me! From across a river! Who does that?" I yell. He opens his mouth, but I'm too worked up to stop my tirade now. "You can't possibly blame me for reacting like that. I've had a horrible day, okay? Horrible! Would you look at me for a second? Like, I know being clubbed over the head and thrown in the river isn't great, but my world isn't great! My leg is cut open, so's my head, I've been walking for hours, and my family-" I stop talking, and he hisses at the same time. For a second I'm sure he's about to kill me on the spot, but he isn't even looking at me. His entire body is tense, his ears erect. "Do you hear that?" he asks. At the same time, a long, eerie howl lifts through the air. Dread courses through me. My mouth goes dry, and my legs start shaking. "N-not them. It can't be them. They don't come up on the mountain, not ever." "Something must've made them change their minds tonight," the tom says. Me? Was it me? Did they follow'' me?'' A spray of snow hits me in the face, and I blink in time to see the tom charging away. "Hey!" I yowl. "Wait up!" I struggle to catch up; I'm a fairly fast runner, but my injuries and the difference in our stride length are working against me. "Please!" I gasp. "I don't--I don't know my way around this mountain, I've never... I need help! Please!" My chest feels like it's going to explode. I can't outrun the wolves; there's no way. Desperately, I begin searching the mountainside. "That's not my problem," yells the tom from up ahead. My flagging strength springs up with a burst of anger at his careless words. "I saved your life, you two-faced piece of tailrot!" I bellow as I run with renewed speed. At the same time, I spot a possible ray of hope: the tiniest opening in the side of the mountain. Even this white tom, athletic as he is, can't outrun the wolves. "We have to hide!" I yell. "Yo, idiot! In here!" I make for the opening and wriggle through. Clearly realizing that there's no hope in running it, the white tom approaches the opening. He takes a deep breath and says coldly, as if I've planned this specifically to spite him, "I can't fit." "Well, make the opening bigger." Another howl, louder than before, splits the air behind him. His eyes widen fractionally, and he begins scrabbling at the rock with his claws. One tears, and blood spurts out at both of us. I growl in frustration as he begins swearing profusely. "Let me, you imbecile. You can't claw apart rock, you have to shift them." I lean my weight against a boulder lodged in the entrance. The white tom does the same, and we manage to slide it over. "Move out of the way. I'm coming in," he growls. I press myself against the back of the tiny cave as his shoulders and head fill the entrance. For a moment I think that he's not going to make it. Then, with a loud suction sound, he slides through the opening and into safety. The two of us stay against the very back of our small hiding spot. Soon the mountainside is ringing with the wolves' howls. It's going to be a sleepless night for sure. The howls echo, so it's impossible to tell whether the wolves are near or far. They seem to be ranging up and down the slope, alternating between tracking down something--I can't even tell if it's us--and just romping about. Finally, the white tom speaks. I guess he's been contemplating whether he should kill me or not, and has decided that he doesn't want to be crammed into this small of a space with a dead body, because the first words he utters aren't a threat. "The Snow Guard will want to know that wolves are on the mountain. The Clans need to have a plan of action, or they'll all be dead soon." "Yeah," I mutter, not understanding any of what he's saying. "I need to tell Greer," he says almost fervently, pressing his head against the wall. Then he stands up. I make a noise of disbelief and outrage. "Are you kidding me? You'll be killed for sure if you go out now." "Shut up." He shoves me roughly aside. "I have to warn her--you don't get it. You don't understand." He looks surprised at the last three words he utters, as if he's not used to hearing them come out of his own mouth. "Of course I don't understand! Whoever this Greer is, she can wait. I'm sure she can hear the wolves herself, anyway-" The tom flinches. "Stupid," he growls. "Obviously she hears the wolves, she already knows..." "Right, that's what I just said," I say testily. The feverish intensity returns to his voice. "But she'll be awake then. She'll see that I'm missing." He lets out a low, whining snarl that's as close to a whimper as I can imagine him uttering. "She's going to kill me," he says in a resigned tone. "Oh yes, I'm sure that will be tragic," I say. "But for now would you shut up if you have nothing good to say? You're making me anxious." His eyes snap to me as if remembering my existence. "What's your name?" he says shortly. I roll my eyes. "Ah yes, pleasantries. What a time to introduce ourselves. I already feel like we know all we need to know about each other--you've got dung for brains and-" I cease babbling at the angry gleam in his eyes. "Everly," I say sullenly. "Everly," he repeats, his face unreadable. "I'm Lucifer." "Of course you are." "I'm a member of the Snow Guard. We protect this mountain." I snort. "Ah, good luck with that." He continues as if I haven't said anything. "The Triad of Clans live on this mountain: RiverClan, ForestClan, and SnowClan. RiverClan lives East on the River Thorn--that's the river you threw me in. ForestClan lives by the firs, lower down by the belt of the mountain, and SnowClan's home is on a plateau to the west--you follow a ridge to get there." Him mentioning the Clans reminds me of my family, and once more the pain that I'd forgotten from the adrenaline of running for my life comes rushing back in. Clenching my jaw so that I don't fall to pieces, I say, mostly to distract myself, "What are the Clans like?" "RiverClan... well, they live off the river, and they hunt in the undergrowth near there. They're very good at camouflage and stealth. ForestClan is good at climbing and aerial attacks. SnowClan is good at running--some of them can run across the ice without breaking it. Greer--she's sort of like my trainer--had me learn all the traits of all the Clans, so I could have all their advantages." "Lucky you," I say. "You're not from Thorn Mountain. Where did you live?" "Down in the valley," I mutter. "South. We got driven from our home by invaders, a band of rogue cats. We were traveling through the valley--me, my parents, my brother and my sister--when we got attacked by wolves. I lost my entire family this morning." "This morning," echoes Lucifer, his tone emotionless. I feel a surge of irritation; I wish I knew what he was thinking, what he was feeling. Though I can't help but wonder, glancing into those hollow eyes, if he can even feel at all. "Yes. My sister's neck was snapped. They were strangled, ripped apart, and broken," I say savagely, making my words as graphic as I can, spitting them at him like he's the one that's done it all. He only continues staring at me, his face betraying nothing. "And how did you escape?" "I climbed a tree," I say weakly. There's a long silence. "It was cowardly," I add stupidly. More silence. Then Lucifer says, "You could've tried hitting them with sticks." I laugh, but by the time it escapes my mouth it's half mutated into a sob. Lucifer actually jumps, as if the sound--a laugh, of all things--scared him. "Sorry," I mumble. "I'm not in my right mind right now." "Nor am I," he says in a polite tone, as if we were stating something as simple as the color of our pelts. "No, I don't think you are. You don't strike me as the type of cat who would normally hold a conversation with someone like me," I say. "Why'd you tell me about the Triad and everything?" "Ah yes," he says lightly, but his voice is strained. "You see, I figured that I might as well make an effort, since we're about to die." "What?" "Turn around." I turn around and peer out through the opening of the cave. He's right. The wolves are right outside. Category:Polar Zone